Everything
by Dunas Priest
Summary: Character study. Cutler Beckett wants everything. It's not his fault that Jack Sparrow just happened to be in the way of that.


**A/N:** Brief oneshot I wrote to pass the time during Hurricane Irene. Jack and Beckett, not slash, character study of Beckett and his relationship with Jack. Not my best piece but oh well.**  
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><p><strong>Everything<strong>

"Of course. It's just good business."

The words slip out of his mouth, silky and smooth. He knows that his advice falls on deaf ears, but he does not care. Jack Sparrow has always been an anomaly to Cutler Beckett. As is anyone else who puts their emotions first, and business next. Nay, it is the other way around that things should go. Logic first, and all other '_feelings'_ next. But Mr. Sparrow is a brainless pirate, so it is only natural that he is not aware of this crucial law in the world of powers.

"Were I in a divulgitory mood..." Jack begins to say, "...what, then, might I divulge?"

A foolish question. Then again, so are all inquiries from Jack Sparrow. Beckett knows he would ask this, though, and so his answer is ready; pre-rehearsed, even. Played over and over again in his head—the moment in which he finally tames the _untamable_ Jack Sparrow. A sort of triumph for him. A satisfaction in knowing that although things may sometimes veer out of his control, in the end, he will always take reins. For who better to assume the position of highest power and grandeur than himself?

"_Everything_," Beckett responds, his voice a low whisper.

His tongue caresses the word like it is his utmost desire, the very pinnacle of his needs. Gold, riches, jewelry, fame, power, conquest... all of those are not enough. No, he must have _everything_. Every man has something he will give up. And Beckett has made it his goal, his quest, to take not only that something from every man, but also all that they have to offer. He breaks their spirit and turns them from a man into a dog, little more than a groveling idiot who survives but does not live. Humans waste the very gifts they have been granted, so Beckett took it upon himself to nurse their gifts by taking them away. He knows that he still has much to take, and _everything_ is still eons away, but this does not bother him. He takes it one step at a time. Patiently, knowingly, and cunningly. Jack Sparrow is just another stepping-stone on the way to _everything_.

"Where are they meeting?" Beckett continues. "Who are the Pirate Lords? What is the purpose of the Nine Pieces of Eight?"

Jack considers his offer. He seems to accept, but then he walks over to one of the shelves and takes a green fan. Beckett settles down behind his desk and waits for Jack's response as the pirate begins to fan himself, almost pleased by the insignificant breeze that it grants him. Beckett does not rush Jack. He has learned to be patient from years of working with him and other people. People do not like to be rushed. They like to work at their own pace. So Beckett makes them comfortable before he takes everything away. Then, after that, he doesn't care.

"You can keep Barbossa," says Jack as he turns to Beckett, listing off members that he doesn't care for. "The belligerent homunculus, and his friend with the wooden eyeball." Then he snaps the fan shut and approaches the desk, his eyes widening as he adds, "And Turner. _Especially_ Turner." He hesitates before saying, "The rest go with me aboard the _Pearl_ and I'll lead you to Shipwreck Cove, where I will hand you the pirates, and you will _not_ hand me to Jones." Whipping the fan open again, Jack fans himself lightly as he adds, "Bloody fair deal, don't you think?"

Beckett considers this, although he already knows that Jack would say something along those lines. The stupid pirate is always out to save his own skin; but then again, who isn't? He thinks about it some more. It is by no means a bad deal, but he does not like it. No, he can still take something more. Besides, he is in the advantageous position, not Jack.

"And what becomes of Ms. Swann?" he inquires, his eyes lifting from the piece of eight in his fingers.

It is a simple question and little more. Just an expression of interest. Beckett does not like to leave bargains with him the worse and his partner the better; no, he prefers it the other way around. He takes as much as he can from the opposition and gives as little as possible. In that way, he would almost be considered a pirate, but through far more lawful venues (although there are those times where his dark dealings flout the rules). And anyways, he won't deny it; he's a greedy little bastard. He wants everything. He likes things to go his way. There is nothing wrong with that.

Jack's fanning becomes less enthusiastic. He lowers the fan, and then, leaning forward, he says, "What interest is she to you?"

Beckett snorts, smiling. Of course Jack would think that way. But Beckett is not interested in Ms. Swann in that sort of means. While there is no doubting that she is quite beautiful, she's far too feisty for his taste, and too tough to break. She has nothing of worth to him, either, save perhaps the gift that all women hold. But still, he finds nothing tempting about her save the fact that were he to marry her, he would inherit Governor Swann's properties. Even so, just the notion of eternal marriage to her is enough to wrack shivers down his spine. He does not like Elizabeth Swann.

"Jack," he says suddenly, rising from his seat, almost excited. "I just recalled; I've got this wonderful compass which points to whatever I want." He maneuvers over to the shelf where he placed the compass before and snatches it, lifting it up in his palm. "So for what do I need you?"

Jack stands there, looking disgusted and beaten. Beckett has to suppress a smile. He's beat him. He's got him. Of course, Cutler Beckett knows (or _thinks_) that he's bluffing, and that this compass is utterly broken and does, in fact, _not_ point to what it is he wants most. But Jack doesn't need to know that. Beckett waits, about to burst. He's got him. He's beaten Jack. He's taken away Jack's slimy urge to get away with everything, oh by the gods, he has him, he has him—

"Points to the thing you want most," says Jack, waving a finger delightfully. "And that is not the Brethren Court, is it?"

Beckett's eyes widen just barely. How does he know that? He can barely suppress rage at knowing that Jack has, once again, slipped out from his grip. Will his endeavors always fail this way? It seemed to not matter what he did to the man; the pirate always survived. Beckett had burned his ship, set the stupid thing aflame, watched Jack cry out in agony as his beloved pile of wood sunk into the sea, blazing orange with fire. He had put slaves on Jack's ship, tried to break him, do whatever he could. He personally had branded the flesh on Jack's wrist, pressed down on the metal, the scent of burning skin smoldering in the air. But Jack _always slipped out_.

"Then what is, Jack?" Beckett asks, still not sure if Jack is trying to sow doubt in him, or really does know.

"Me!" Jack exclaims, smiling. Then, his expression turning grim, he adds, "Dead."

Bloody hell. How does he know _that_? Beckett's facade falls almost instantly, wiped away like a clean slate. Yes. It's true. It really is. He had tried to lie to himself about it, tried to tell himself that the compass was just _broken_, that it didn't work, that it was just a piece of voodoo junk. But no, the truth returns, with quite a punch, actually, and reminds him of something he did not want to be reminded of: the Brethren Court is a mere side pursuit, a desire which he cannot repress.

But ultimately? Jack Sparrow is more important to him inherently. Lord Beckett had tried so hard to tame Sparrow, and his efforts never worked. He wants nothing more in the world than to tear Jack apart and be the true victor. _That_ is the truth. The undeniable, unshakable truth.

Cutler Beckett hates Jack Sparrow.

"Damn," Beckett hisses under his breath, annoyed. He tosses the compass to Jack, who tosses him the fan in return. He snatches it with utmost haste and then unfolds it, beginning to fan himself lazily, in a sheer mockery of its previous holder.

Jack gives him an incredulous stare. He still doesn't know what Beckett wants, evidently. He wants Jack to die, yes—but not as _Jack_. Beckett does not want Jack to die as Captain Jack Sparrow. That would be near martyrdom, and he does not want that. No, what Beckett wants is to break Jack, and take everything away from him. Everything from his slippery urge to escape from everything to his dastardly ego that seems to get in the way of him always. _Then_, and only _then_, will he kill Jack. Not as a _man_, but as a dog with nothing left.

"Although," Beckett says smoothly as his free hand slips into his frock coat, "if I kill you, then I can use the compass to find... 'Shipwreck Cove', is it?—on my own." He lowers the fan, and raises up a small pistol concealed in his coat. "Cut out the middleman, as it were."

Jack seems to stiffen as he realizes that he's getting a gun pointed at him, but then he relaxes once more. He knows that Beckett will not fire. He now realizes what Beckett wants, and it is not him dead. It is him broken. Beckett almost swears again, but he chooses not to. He still cannot believe that he has met his match against this annoying pirate. He cannot believe that this stupid annoying pirate could possibly be nearly as intelligent as him, and it irritates him to no end.

"With me killed, you'd arrive at the Cove and find it's a stronghold _nigh_ impregnable, able to withstand blockade for years..." Jack drawls as he paces around. "...And then you'd be wishing, 'Oh, if only there was someone I had _not_ killed inside to ensure that the pirates then come _outside_'."

Beckett squints. His grip on the gun loosens ever-so-slightly. He can't help but take Jack's offer seriously. He knows that the pirate is just a blasted dirty liar, and there is no way that Jack would ever lead him into the Cove, but he just cannot help but delude his mind into buying it for one second.

"And you can accomplish all this, can you?" he inquires.

Almost instantly, as if expecting that answer, Jack leans back and slowly throws his arms into the air. Stepping back a few, body swaying, he says, "You may kill me, but you may _never_ insult me." He stares back at the British despot, and then, smiling, "_Who am I?_" He raises his arms up, his eyes expectant for the obvious answer.

Beckett's brows rise. He wonders what the hell Jack is doing. Actually, no, on second thought, he wonders _what Jack's name is_. Is this just the bloodiest stupid thing or what? The very man he's hated for so many years, and he forgets his name. He opens his lips and shakes his head, but no answer comes forth.

Jack looks horrified; stricken. He leans forward, devastated. "You... you mean I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he stutters.

The Lord lifts his head to respond, but then—

_BAM._

The ship rocks with the impact of a cannonball stabbing into the hull. Beckett is thrown back by the sheer force, and Jack wheels forward, then quickly careens back. Cutler hits the edge of his deck and falls to the side, letting out a gentle, helpless:

"Ah...!"

Jack takes his chance. He flings his hand forward and grabs Beckett's. They force a handshake. Beckett is looking up at Jack, his eyes wide, bewildered, his mind still reeling from the hit.

"_Done_!" Jack shouts as he turns and _flees_ the room, leaving Cutler Beckett completely out of his mind.

Beckett just sits there for a few moments. Then he quickly regains himself. He gets to his feet as fast as he possibly can and allows himself to kick the nearest fallen piece of rubble.

God damn it all, damn it, damn, damn, damn _damn DAMN_!

Damn it, Jack Sparrow! Damn it all!

Cutler Beckett makes his way out of his quarters, onto the hectic deck of the ship. Cannonballs are flying, shots are being fired left and right, and in the midst of all the chaos, he stands erect, chewing on naught but his own teeth, eyes flitting about. _There_! He spots the filthy pirate floundering around on the quarterdeck—no, _his_ quarterdeck, grabbing ropes and whatever he can grab.

Beckett lazily and calmly makes his way up the stairs, past tumbling guards and a cannonball that whizzes straight past his ears. He walks over and spots Jack. Squinting, he sees the pirate securing a rope around the cannon, then making a sort-of lever syste-...

His eyes widen. Sitting in the holster where the cannonball should be, is the small wax figurine of Lord Cutler Beckett, in all his glory. (He really does like that figurine. He does. He thinks it represents himself quite well. He had the maker create it to be a few scaled centimeters taller than who it's modeled after, but nevermind that...)

"You're _mad_," he practically snarls.

Jack turns to him. "Thank goodness for that, because if I wasn't, this probably would never work." He lights the cannon.

Beckett flinches just as he ducks—right in the nick of time, too. Jack flies into the air, fired up by the power of the cannon blast. He whizzes off the _Endeavor_ and in no time he is across. The ships then quickly leave the battlefield.

Lord Beckett walks up to the quarterdeck. He is completely ragged and bewildered by what has just conspired, but nevertheless, he attempts to keep his composure.

Lieutenant Groves comes to his side. "Which ship do we follow?"

Beckett takes a quick breath. "Signal the _Dutchman_ to track down Sao Feng. We follow the _Pearl_." He pauses, his eyes watching the _Black Pearl _—nay, watching _Jack Sparrow_. He's going to follow their 'deal', even though he had never really agreed to it. "How soon can we have the ship ready to pursuit?"

Behind him, the mast of his ship creaks, and then tumbles.

Groves watches. Exasperated, he says, "Do you think he plans it all out? Or just makes it up as he goes along?"

Beckett turns his head to stare at Groves. No funny business.

Groves gets it. He leaves quickly.

Lord Cutler Beckett places his hands on the mast.

_You just wait and see_, he thinks to himself angrily as his face is completely, completely calm. _I am going to have everything, Jack Sparrow. Everything. And you are not going to stop me._


End file.
